Chapter 15
Soumia and I are standing at the passenger door waiting for the vermin to board. Soumia’s checked her emails ten times in the last two minutes.
‘Put it away babe, looking at it won't make the email come through. You’re already the best senior there is, you don’t need an extra star on your jacket to tell you that.’ I nod in the direction of the bus that’s just pulled up at the bottom of the aircraft steps. ‘Here comes the riff raff.’
Passengers spill out onto the apron as soon as the bus doors open, all eager to get up the steps and out of the wind. We paint false smiles on our faces, ready to meet our tormentors.
‘Welcome onboard sir, straight down on the left,’ Soumia says to a man dressed in a grey business suit. He’ll regret the rigidity of his outfit an hour into the flight when his stomach starts swelling with the pressure.
‘10A, just by the window on the right,’ I say to a woman carrying an infant, her partner behind her carrying several suitcases and a nappy bag. ‘That thing better not cry,’ I whisper to Soumia.
‘22E, down on the right. What on earth is she wearing? Yes, that’s a window seat.’
This is mine and Soumia’s favourite part of the flight: judging the passengers as they board – hypothetically swiping left or right.
I widen my fake smile. ‘Welcome onboard, right to the back on the left. He looks like he’s on day release.’
‘He smells like it too. Just pop your large bag in the overhead locker and your handbag underneath the seat in front. Very posh, a Louis Vuitton.’
‘It’ll be fake, to match her tits. 29B, just on your right.’ I point down the aisle.
‘No sir, we don’t have WIFI. We’re low cost.’ Soumia answers a youth in a tracksuit.
An agitated man makes eye contact with me. ‘Why are we delayed?’
‘Slight mechanical fault, all fixed now sir, we should be able to make up the time in flight and land early. You’re in 31D. Straight to the back.’ I waft the passenger away before he has a chance to ask any more questions.
Soumia looks at a man making his way up the stairs with tight blue jeans and black t-shirt that look like they’ve been sprayed on. ‘Oh my god, he’s beautiful. Definitely a contender for BOB.’
BOB stands for Best on Board. The sexiest bit of male eye-candy will be discussed by all crew. Not someone you’d want to marry, but you’d choose to ride them until the sun comes up in a game of Shag, Marry, Avoid. The winner will unknowingly be awarded the title of BOB.
‘Not my type, but I see your attraction.’ I respond.
‘Have you got your boarding pass, sir?’ Soumia asks a podgy middle-aged man wearing a Star Wars t-shirt two sizes too small.
‘I’m sat in 18A,’ Darth Vader replies.
‘I still need to see your boarding pass,’ Soumia responds.
Every crew member has had this conversation and this reaction a thousand times before.
‘This is ridiculous. I’ve just shown the gate staff, why do I need to show you?’
I can smell the lager on the man’s breath as his saliva particles spray Soumia.
‘I just need to see it sir, and I’ve had a shower already this morning, I don’t need another one.’ Soumia smiles innocently at him and wipes his spit from her blazer.
It’s enough to calm the man down, though it doesn’t deter him from making a show of retrieving his boarding pass out of his pocket.
This is the sort of passenger who will constantly press his call bell for beers throughout the flight, trying to drink the amount he’s spent on air fare.
He’ll be disappointed when he finds out it’s not free but order his bodyweight in booze anyway.
If he’s not put in his place, the more he drinks the more confident he’ll get.
He’ll start flirting with the female crew, asking nicely for their numbers at first. The crew will decline but he won’t take no for answer.
He’ll carry on drinking, most likely his own duty free as the crew would have refused him any more to drink.
That’s when he’ll start touching the ladies’ bums and calling it a laugh.
When the crew tell him sternly his behaviour is unacceptable, he’ll start to get aggressive, slurs of frigid bitch or ugly tart will follow – we’ve seen it all before.
‘See, I told you, 18A.’ The man holds the boarding card so close to Soumia’s face she has to take a step back.
Neither of us care where he’s sitting. We’d be quite happy if he was sat on the wing or locked in a cage in the hold. We’re required to check the flight number, destination and date as per procedure.
The rest of the boarding is uneventful, the usual problem with double-booked seats but nothing that can’t be sorted without a quick look for empty spaces and a reshuffle of families.
Me, Trev and Soumia are huddled in the forward galley.
The flight crew have already been served their first hot drink of the sector.
‘I’ve done the honour of pouring you both a take-off drink.
To good health and a massive pay rise.’ Trev lifts a plastic champagne flute off the side.
Soumia and I copy and chink our plastic.
It’s filled with champagne and orange. Completely illegal to drink on duty but a tiny one won't hurt, and we’ll be sober by the time we land in case of any random testing by the authorities.
‘What’s the choice for them today?’ Soumia’s necked her glass and has opened the cart with the premium meals. ‘Yuk, the salad’s browning.’
‘It was probably picked fresh last year. It’s the same choice they always get, bangers and mash or chicken and chips.
It just sounds better on the menu.’ Succulent pork fingers smothered in a rich caramelised onion sauce on a bed of freshly harvested King Edwards, or a moist breast of farm reared chicken accompanied by lightly spiced potato pavé.
‘Have you been out and taken the orders yet?’ Trev asks, topping up his take-off drink.
‘No, I’ll do it now.’ I get my notebook and pen out of my plonky kit, all good crew have one, a pencil case of things you’ll need for the flight: ice tongs, oven gloves, torch.
Jason draws back the galley curtain, face giddy with excitement, over the top hand gestures for dramatic effect.
‘Have you seen BOB?’ He squeals.
Soumia’s picking brown pieces of lettuce from a meal layup and flicking it into a gash bag tied to the door. ‘The guy in the black t-shirt and blue jeans? He’s straight and I’ve already claimed him.’
‘No.’ Jason’s clapping his hands like he’s at a Beyonce concert. ‘The guy in 4E.’
Trev, Soumia and I stop what we’re doing and peer around the galley curtain to get a look at BOB. We must resemble a traffic light of heads: Soumia’s green, I’m amber, and Trev’s red.
‘He’s beautiful.’ Soumia’s eyes pop out.
‘He’s a handsome bastard,’ Trev joins in.
He drops the curtain back down, blocking us out of the passengers’ view.
‘I didn’t see him board, did you babe?’ Soumia opens another cart and begins counting the meals.
‘Let me get another look.’ I pop my head back round into the cabin and look at the stranger in 4E. ‘Oh my god.’
Soumia looks up from a slice of cucumber she’s just about to throw in the bin. ‘What’s wrong with your face?’
‘It’s Olly4U. 4E, he’s Shagman.’
‘You’ve lost me?’
‘The one who stood me up for his brother.’
Trev gives a heterosexual male point of view. ‘Figures, no one that handsome is straight.’
Jason’s pouting. ‘He probably turned up and saw you and didn’t want to stay.’
My tone hardens. ‘Fuck off, Jason.’
Jason’s eyes light up at the gossip he’s about to run and tell the rear galley. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing, absolutely nothing. I waited for him, but he didn’t show up.’
Soumia’s got her head back in the cart picking wilting cucumber off every plate. ‘Do you want me to put eyedrops in his tea?’
I think about it for a split second. ‘No, he’s not worth our jobs.’
Soumia takes another look at 4E. ‘He’s good looking though; you should hear him out, he might be genuine. Get his number with his order.’
‘I’m not interested in men.’ I surprise myself saying this, even more so that I actually mean it. ‘Besides, look at him,’ we all turn and stare at 4E through the gap in the curtain, ‘he’s way out of my league.’
‘Yes, he is.’ Jason hisses, not missing an opportunity to put someone down. ‘He’s not out of mine though, I’m going to get his number.’
Jason is about to walk off when Trev tells him to stop. ‘You won't. I’m not having passengers on my flight harassed by you. Get back to economy and go and help. Do some work.’
Jason throws the galley curtain back as he minces out the galley and down the cabin. Trev’s topping up our glasses with more orange and champagne.
‘One more before we start the service. Bottoms up.’
The sweetness of the orange masks the dry champagne.
Refreshing. Easy to drink. You can’t taste the alcohol which makes it even more dangerous, especially at altitude where every unit of alcohol has double the effect than on the ground.
Trev puts the empty bottle of champagne back in the cart.
All bottles of champagne must be returned to the bond and counted, Tiny World’s way of making sure the crew don’t help themselves to a bottle down route.
Doesn’t stop us from enjoying a glass on board though.
I pick up my pad and pen. ‘I’ll go and get the orders.’